


Pathetic, Nervous and Tongue-Tied

by Salr323



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Salr323
Summary: A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of theWest Wing Fanfiction Central, a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in theannouncement post.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Pathetic**

"You're pretty pathetic, you know that?"

Josh glanced up from the scattered papers on the table in front of him and irritably scratched a hand through his hair. "Just in general?" he asked Lou. "Or was there something specific?"

She rocked back in her chair, chewing on the end of a pen. "Pretty much in general," she said, "but on this particular occasion I'm talking about specifics."

Yawning, Josh began to gather his papers together. The meeting had lasted forever, and he swore it was only matchsticks keeping his eyes open. He needed coffee. Fast. "Illuminating as this conversation is," he said, getting to his feet, "maybe we can postpone it to a time when, you know, I'm not here."

The front legs of Lou's chair hit the floor with a dull thud. "Why don't you just ask her out?"

Stunned for a moment, Josh found that he'd stopped moving and was staring blindly at the mess of papers spread out before him. "What?"

"Donna," Lou clarified, hoisting her briefcase from the floor and thumping it onto the table. "Why don't you just ask her out?"

Denial. Denial, denial, denial… "Why would I do that?"

Lou smirked. "Because you want to."

"I don't."

"Oh come on," she snorted, "you've been staring at her like a hungry dog all afternoon."

Josh felt his eyes widen. "I have not! I've been-"

"Plus," Lou said, snatching one of the papers out of his hands, "you spent the whole meeting drawing swirly things around her name on the minutes."

"Hey!" He made a grab for the paper, but was too late. Lou was examining his mindless doodles with the concentration of a forensic scientist.

"Are those little hearts?"

"No!" Snatching the minutes back, he shoved them into his backpack without looking at them. "Haven't you got something to do?"

"Sure," she replied, tapping her own notes into a neat pile and dropping them into her briefcase. "But I still think you're pathetic."

"Who's pathetic?" came a voice from the doorway.

Josh spun so fast he knocked half his papers flying, cursing as he bent to pick them up.

"Hey Donna," Lou's smirk widened into a broad grin. "We were just talking about you."

"No we weren't!" Josh objected from under the table where he was trying to reach the last of the errant papers.

He could practically hear the roll of Lou's eyes. "I was telling Josh he's pathetic," she said, "because he's too scared to ask you out in case you say no."

The crash of Josh's head on the underside of the table was the only noise in the room. Biting back a curse, he struggled to his feet. Looking anywhere but at Donna, who was loitering nervously in the doorway, he muttered, "Remind me again why I hired you?"

Lou grinned and picked up her case. "Because you're pathetic and you need me." And with that she was gone, leaving Josh alone with his chaotic papers, a bruise the size of a small goose egg forming on the back of his head, and Donna.

He still didn't look at her, but he could sense her moving further into the room. "I forgot my coffee mug," she explained as she walked over to where she'd been sitting during the meeting.

"Ah," said Josh, deciding to stuff all his papers into his pack and sort them out later. It was possible that he looked slightly deranged, cramming handfuls of notes into his backpack, but at that moment escape was really his only priority.

Donna, meanwhile, had stopped on the opposite side of the table from him. She stood there watching him, her eyes slicing and dicing like beautiful laser beams; he didn't dare meet those eyes, but if he glanced up under his brow he could just see the edge of her soft wool sweater where it met the top of her black skirt. Not that he was looking… Tearing his gaze away, he zipped his backpack shut and was just about to leave when Donna spoke. "I'd say yes," she said, in a nervous, laughing voice. "If you asked."

His heart leaped, then dived down toward his toes and lay flopping at his feet. All he could manage was a squeaky, "Okay, right. I'll bear that in mind."

And then he was out the door and practically fleeing toward his office, the word 'pathetic' hot on his heals. He got half way there before his legs started to slow, almost of their own accord. Pretty soon he was standing stock-still in the middle of the corridor and wondering why people couldn't see him being wrenched apart by indecision.

You're her boss! (Kind of, but not really anymore.) She left you! (But she came back.) You haven't got time for a relationship! (But it's Donna…)

And she said she'd say yes.

With a grimace, he turned on his heel and eyed the glass walls of the meeting room at the end of the corridor. Donna was still there, pretty much where he'd left her, as if she were expecting him to do exactly what he was doing. She probably did, which was a whole new level of pathetic.

Nevertheless he adopted his most nonchalant swagger, wishing he could hide behind his sunglasses without looking like a dork, and sauntered back to the meeting room. Donna had cleared away the detritus of the meeting and piled it in a neat heap at the end of the table for the cleaning staff. He didn't know why she did things like that, it wasn't her job.

As he rounded the corner of the door, he stopped and she looked up. With a bright, sweet smile she said, "Hey."

"Hey," he replied, nodding for no particular reason and gazing around the sterile room as if it were the Sistine Chapel.

After a moment of silence Donna said, "I was just tidying up. I hate leaving a mess, makes us look like a bunch of children who can't clean up after themselves."

About one in three of her words cut through the white-noise in Josh's head, which was probably why his reply was a complete non-sequitur. "So I was wondering," he blurted, "if…you know…if you weren't busy or anything…if you might want to - maybe - grab some dinner. Or something." His heart was thudding, the blood rushing so fast through his ears that he could barely hear. And there was something fascinating about the way the blinds shivered beneath the air conditioning. Also, there were twenty slats on each window, which, when you thought about it was-

"That sounds nice."

His gaze snapped to her like it was magnetized. "Yeah?" He couldn't help it, a pathetically relieved grin spread across his face; right then he'd have given his right arm for an ounce of cool.

"Did you mean tonight?" Donna asked, the only evidence that they weren't discussing a planning meeting being the faint flush in her cheeks and the restrained smile playing over her lips.

Tonight? His mouth was suddenly as dry as Arizona. "Uh…You're free tonight?"

"Yes. As it happens, I am."

"Oh. Okay."

She looked at him for a long beat and then said, "Are you? Free tonight?"

Josh blinked. Truth was, he had no idea. If, somewhere in his numb mind, he'd ever had a schedule it was lost beneath the astonishing fact that I'm going on a date with Donna! He decided to throw caution to the wind. "I am now."

Donna's sunshine smile broke free, just for an instant, but it was enough to send his heart turning summersaults as she headed for the door. "You can pick me up at eight," she said, breezing past him and out into the corridor.

For an instant she was so close he could smell the perfume that had driven him insane all afternoon, and then she was gone and he was watching, open-mouthed, as she strolled back toward her office.

"Josh?" Leo was heading in the opposite direction and slowed. "You okay?"

"I- Yeah." He tried to smile, but it turned into a disbelieving laugh. "I have a date."

"Ah," said Leo, gathering speed again, clearly as interested in Josh's love-life as he was in life on Mars. "That's great."

"I have a date," Josh repeated to himself, forcing his legs to carry him back to his office. "I have a date with Donna. "

Holy crap. I have a date with Donna?

How the hell am I not going to screw that up?


	2. Pathetic, Nervous and Tongue-Tied

**Nervous**

Donna stood and stared at herself in the full-length mirror. Her hair was loose and curling subtly at the ends, there'd been no mascara disasters so her make-up was as good as it got, and the black dress, she figured, covered all eventualities. Smart enough for somewhere upscale, inconspicuous enough for somewhere more informal.

She was hoping for informal, because what the mirror didn't reflect was the way her stomach was churning like a choppy sea.

Nerves! It seemed so ridiculous to be nervous, after all it was just Josh. She'd known him forever, eaten dinner with him a hundred times. Only, of course, that was exactly the point. It wasn't just Josh.

It was Josh, who she'd been in love with for the best part of eight years, who she'd worshiped from afar and prayed for the night he was shot. Josh, who she'd needed so desperately in the hospital that she couldn't believe he hadn't been able to see what was written on her heart. Josh, who she'd grown to hate because he never seemed to see her at all, and who she'd left and barely spoken to for half a year. Josh, who'd turned her away with a breaking voice and told her that he missed her every day. Josh, who, despite everything, she loved with an intensity and endurance that terrified her. Josh, who could break her heart with a single word or look.

Yeah. So, there was some baggage. As far as dates went, this was probably the most petrifying of her entire life. If it didn't work, if this was their once chance and it didn't work, then she knew she'd be lost, like a spirit loose in the world with nowhere to rest. And if-

Her buzzer buzzed ten minutes early, stirring her stomach's choppy waves into ten foot high swells. Blowing out a quick breath, she ran her hands once over her dress, straightened her shoulders, and moved to the intercom. "Come on up," she called into the speaker, hoping she didn't sound seasick.

Thirty seconds later he was knocking on her door. Must have taken the stairs two at a time. Deep breath, relaxed smile - three, two, one. Open the door!

Her first thought was upscale! Her second was…wow. Sharp suite - new, by the looks of it - nice shirt, nice tie. Overcoat. She knew what Josh looked like when he was making an effort, and this was it. Big time. Somehow, it only increased the turbulence in her stomach.

"Hey," he said, smiling that small, boyish smile that she'd never learned to resist.

"Hey." Stepping back, she let him in. "You're early."

"I know," he grinned, holding something behind his back as he closed the door. "That okay? I couldn't wait." He was all but bouncing on his toes.

Donna smiled, although his enthusiasm only heightened her nerves. She hadn't seen this side of him for so long, he almost looked like a stranger standing there, larger than life, in her hallway.

Do I even know him anymore, a panicked voice asked. What will we talk about? Work? Didn't we used to talk about more than work? But that was so long ago, and we were different people and…

She swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. "I just need to get my purse," she said, glancing once more at his suit. It really was very smart. "Um…am I okay like this?"

"Like what?" he asked, his restless gaze darting all over her apartment. He hadn't been there for years, she realised. Certainly not since her roommate had moved out, and not for a few months before that.

Dismissing the thought, she gestured at her dress. "Do I look okay for…wherever we're going?"

He stilled, his eyes wide. "You look amazing," he blurted. "I'm sorry, I should have said…" He winced slightly, as if mentally kicking himself. "I meant to say that…before. You look - I mean, you always look amazing."

Donna smiled, his awkwardness somehow reassuring. "Thanks." He still had a hand behind his back, and she tipped her head to one side to try and see what he was hiding. "Is that something I should…?"

"Huh?"

"Is there something behind your back, Josh?"

"What?" He looked confused for a split-second, and then realisation crashed in. "Oh!" Laughing nervously he pulled a small posy of purplish-blue flowers from behind his back. "Yeah, okay, so that was really smooth…" He held them out to her. "These are for you. Obviously."

"They're lovely," she said, taking the bouquet from his hands. "Thank you."

"They're wood violets," he said with a triumphant grin.

For a moment she was confused. "Wood violets…?"

"It's the state flower of-"

"Wisconsin," she finished with a grin of her own. "That's very sweet."

"I have my moments."

"Yes," Donna admitted, feeling ridiculously shy all of a sudden. "Yes you do."

He smiled, the kind of heated smile they used to exchange but never discuss, and for an instant her nerves melted away, replaced by tension of an entirely different variety. It did nothing to improve her composure, however, absolutely nothing at all.

Thirty minutes later they were seated at a quiet table in the fanciest restaurant Donna had ever been in. Ever. She hadn't caught the discrete name above the door, but it had been French - at least, she assumed it had been French since the entire menu was also written in French. Hers, she noticed, also came without prices. If you have to ask, you can't afford it?

The table was set with a plethora of silverware and glasses - enough for at least four people, she imagined. And the waiters were all in black-and-white, with accents and slicked back hair.

Despite her years in DC, Donna felt like a hayseed who'd blown in from out of town and was sure everyone in the restaurant knew it too. She glanced over the top of her menu and studied Josh. Was it possible he'd brought her here to make some sort of point? Was it pay-back? They'd never discussed the whole leaving thing and she knew Josh was quite capable of serving his revenge icy cold. But this?

He looked up at that moment, a little shadow of confusion in his eyes, as if he were looking to her for some kind of answer. Apparently not getting it he glanced back down at the menu and said, "The steak is really good."

"I'm guessing they don't serve it with fries and A1 sauce?"

He smiled, but there was an edge to it. "No," he said, the fingers of one hand beginning to tap against the edge of the menu.

She wasn't sure whether to call him on it, or not. But at that moment a waiter appeared and asked for their order. Josh looked at her again, "Are you ready?"

Donna figured she had three options. Plead for more time and ask Josh to translate, make a wild guess (which might result in snails or frogs legs), or call the slicked-back waiter on the pretentiousness of having an entire menu in French when you were, in fact, in Washington DC where no one actually spoke French. She slid a glance at Josh, who was staring at her with an unreadable expression; the clenched jaw gave him away as tense, however. Was he afraid she was going to embarrass him? Too bad.

She aimed a winning smile at the waiter and said, "Do you have a menu in English? With, you know, prices on it?"

Josh made a strange sound, that might have been a cough, but she ignored him.

The waiter lifted his chin, all the better to look down his nose. "I am sorry, mademoiselle, we do not."

She met and held his gaze, then realised with a sinking horror that she had no idea what to do next. There was a deathly hush in the little restaurant, as if every snooty couple was staring at her and tutting at the failing public education system for not teaching French menu-reading. Donna's cheeks started to glow.

"We'll both have the steak," Josh said suddenly, his tone one that had sent many a Senator scurrying for cover. "Well done, with béarnaise sauce." He snapped the menu shut and handed it to the waiter. "Tell the chef to hurry it up."

Donna suddenly felt sick, a noxious mixture of anger and humiliation boiling inside. She tried to catch Josh's eye, but he was glaring off to one side and for the second time that evening she thought he looked like a stranger. The Josh she knew - the one she'd grown to love - would have seen the funny side. He certainly wouldn't have sat there glowering like it was the end of the world, and he might even have found her impertinence endearing.

When the silence grew so heavy it was threatening to suffocate her, Donna forced out an apology. "I'm sorry," she said stiffly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't," he said, flicking a quick smile in her direction. But he didn't hold her gaze for more than an instant, and he didn't lose that tense, angry set to his shoulders. After a moment, he added, "I should-"

The waiter was back, looking contrite, and the chef had worked as fast as a short order cook. Donna suspected that Josh was not the kind of client they wanted to keep waiting.

The food was a distraction - and it was, she had to admit, delicious - but they ate more or less in silence, and Donna couldn't help noticing the way Josh was bolting down his meal as if he was late for a meeting. Donna's own stomach was hardly in the mood for food, and half way through she had to give up. "I'm full," she said with a smile she didn't really feel.

For the first time since the menu incident, Josh looked at her. "You done?"

"Yeah."

With that he was on his feet, pulling out his wallet and peeling off what looked like fifty dollar bills. She didn't see how many he slapped down on the table, because at that moment the waiter darted toward them. "Sir? Can I-"

"Our coats," Josh said, making it an order.

"Josh?" Donna asked, standing too. "What's…"

"I'm sorry," he said, his mouth a tight line of irritation. "This was a mistake."

A mistake? There was a sudden hole where her heart had once been. A mistake? After eight long, stupid years of waiting this was it?

Ten seconds later she was being helped into her coat by a suddenly obsequious - and, she thought, somewhat panicked - waiter. And then Josh's hand was on her back and he was guiding her through the tables toward the door, not giving the maitre d' the chance to get there first and open it.

The cold air hit her like a fist and froze the tears bunching in her throat. His hand was still on her back as he propelled her away from the restaurant, and all she wanted to do was slap him for being so cruel. Refusing to be pushed about any longer, she stopped dead. He kept walking for a couple of paces and then slowly trailed to a halt too.

In an icy voice she said, "If I embarrassed you in there-"

"I'm sorry," he sighed, looking miserable when he turned back to face her. "It was a mistake, I-"

"Yeah," she snapped, "I get that I'm a mistake, I just-"

"What? " His eyes were suddenly round as saucers. "No! Oh my God, no!" In two steps he was right in front of her, his hands seizing her shoulders, horrified. "Not you. I didn't mean you! God, I knew I'd do this. I knew I'd screw this up!"

He looked utterly at sea, and oddly that calmed the nauseous churning in her stomach better than anything else all evening. "You've screwed up?"

"That place!" Josh said. "It's not us. I hate places like that, I just…" He sighed. "Amy always liked it there."

"Oh." Donna hoped she kept that as neutral as possible.

Josh smiled crookedly. "I should have stuck with plan A."

"There was a plan A?"

"I was going to get you drunk at the Hawk and Dove."

"That would have been nice."

"Really?" He looked like he wasn't convinced. "Because I didn't want you to think that I wasn't making an effort. I didn't want you to think that this wasn't important. Because it is. It really is."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really, really."

Suddenly she was all too aware of his hands, their grasp on her shoulders loosening as they slid down her arms toward her wrists. Before he could pull away she caught both his hands in hers and held them there; in the cold air, his fingers felt warm and strong as they threaded through hers. "Buy me coffee and desert at Luciano's?"

Josh grinned, a giddy smile full of relief and dimples. "You sure? The menu might be, you know, in Italian."

"Non importa, " Donna said airily. "Anyway, it's more like us."

He didn't answer, just offered her his arm, which she took, and pulled her close against him. "You know," he said as they walked, "I really like that that place wasn't 'us'. I mean - I really like that there's an 'us' for it not to be."

Donna smiled, she felt it spread out from her heart to warm her from head to toe. "Yeah, there's an 'us'," she agreed, giving his arm a little squeeze. "I like that too."

He looked over at her - into her - and suddenly the turbulence was back. Right in the pit of her belly this time. Except now it was more like a warmth than a churning sensation, a deep smouldering fire that had been banked for too long. Her gaze was still locked with his, and as she ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips she caught the flash of heat in his eyes and wondered if he was ever going to get around to kissing her…


	3. Pathetic, Nervous and Tongue-Tied

**Tongue-Tied**

Josh couldn't remember the last time he'd walked slowly through the streets of DC. Maybe he never head. Truth was, he couldn't remember the last time he'd done anything slowly. His whole life felt like a huge lurch from crisis to crisis, fuelled by adrenalin, coffee, and ambition.

And yet here he was, ambling through the empty streets with Donna's arm threaded through his, and wishing that he could walk even slower. He wanted to absorb every second of this and - if he was honest - delay the moment they'd arrive at her door and he'd be forced to make the choice.

To kiss, or not to kiss. That was the question.

In the movies it was always so obvious. The hero's eyes would meet the heroine's, they'd drift slowly together and bam! Fireworks. But in Josh's experience that absolutely never happened. Instead there was a lot of shuffling feet, fiddling with front door keys, awkward smiles, and desperate efforts to know if this was the right moment. Casanova he wasn't; he'd never had time to perfect the art of romance and he'd all but given up on it now. The adage about old dogs and new tricks wasn't a cliché for nothing.

It amazed him that he could calculate the political ramifications of any one of a hundred policy options with ease, but when faced with a woman, a front door, and that choice he never knew which way to jump. Nine times out of ten he left it up to her to make the first move, kidding himself that he was being cool when, in fact, he was just plain flummoxed. But he had a feeling - no, a certain knowledge - that Donna wouldn't give him an out. They'd probably be standing there all night, waiting for someone to do something.

His amble, he noticed, had become a definite dawdle. They'd turned into her street and he could see her building halfway down; the end of the line. He glanced over and found Donna watching him, her lips curved into an unreadable smile. "That was nice," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Sorry about the restaurant, I should have-"

"It's fine. It was worth it for the suit."

"The suit?"

"It's a nice suit," she said, reaching beneath his coat to tug at his jacket. "It looks good on you."

Her fingers, brushing over his chest, provoked a sudden, heated desire to push her up against the nearest wall and devour her whole - which only confused the whole kissing debate further. I must not screw this up, I must not screw this up!

"You okay?" Donna asked.

"Fine." It came out rather squeaky.

She was smiling again. "You look a little flushed."

"It's the heat," he said, watching his breath swirl silver in the street lights.

"Ah," Donna agreed. "DC in October can be stifling…" But she held his arm tighter and he thought he detected a little colour in her cheeks too as they slowed, and eventually stopped, at the bottom of the steps to her apartment.

Let the foot-shuffling begin… He glanced up at the building, then back at Donna. Her golden hair was beautiful against the dark night, her pale skin as luminous as moonlight. His breath caught and he found himself reminded of another cold, bright night in this street. "We've been here before," he said.

"Yes we have," Donna smiled. "No snowballs this time."

"And no audience."

"No," she agreed, her smile suddenly serious. "Just us."

This is it! This is the moment. Kiss her! Kiss her now! He took half a step forward, but she looked abruptly away and Josh stopped dead. Damn it, damn it, damn it! "I, uh," he heard himself say, "I had a good time."

"Me too," Donna agreed. She was fishing in her purse now, pulling out her front door key. "It was fun, nice to catch up."

Catch up? Okay…what did that mean? Was she implying this was a one-off event? He shuffled his feet, and hated himself for it. "It was," he agreed lamely. "It's been a while since we, you know, caught up. Or…talked, actually."

She was looking at him again, her wide eyes seeming to reflect all the scant light in the street. "A lot of stuff's happened."

Stuff...? Okay, what the hell's happening now?

"I was thinking we should probably talk some more. Before-" She cut herself off, looking down with a self-conscious smile.

Before…? "Talking is good," he said, the squeak back in his voice. Before what?!

Donna nodded. "I just think we need to clear the air, there are some issues… I don't want us to-"

"Donna?" Don't screw this up. Don't screw this up! "I really don't want to screw this up."

"I know." Her smile was back, the smile that said he'd done something she thought was sweet. "I know you don't, Josh."

It emboldened him to continue. "The thing is… I don't know how to do this. I've never known how- You know I don't know how to do this, so I'm just going to ask… Is there going to be kissing? I mean, before the talking? Or is the talking bit first, and then the kissing, because-"

She kissed him. Softly, sweetly, and all too briefly. "Next question?"

Through a throat tight with a thousand emotions, he scratched, "Is there going to be more…kissing?"

Her smile was as bright as sunshine and twice as warm. "That's up to you Don Juan."

Okay, so that would be a definite signal to- She was in his arms, he was kissing her with everything he had, and she was giving back twice as much. Her fingers were in his hair, her whole body pressed against his, and he wondered how she was still standing up until he realised there was a wall, or something, behind her and that her entire body, from top to toe, was in complete and utter contact with his and that she was trying to pull him closer and one hand was beneath his coat and under his jacket and he could feel the heat of her fingers and the cold of the air and he didn't need to breathe because this kiss was just never, ever going to end and frankly if they didn't get inside soon there was a distinct possibility that they'd be arrested for- Oh God if she touched him there again-

He pulled back, desperately pinning her wandering hands against the wall. "What about the talking?" he managed to gasp between breaths.

Her chest was rising and falling, her face flushed and beautiful and everything he'd ever dreamed of. "Isn't that what we're doing?" she breathed at last. And then her lips curled up into a smile he'd never seen on her face before; delicious, reckless, and utterly seductive. "Want to come inside and talk some more?"

"You sure?" He was dizzy, drunk with the taste of her. "You know how I…love the sound of my own voice. I could talk all night."

"I'm counting on it. It's been too long since I had a good…conversation."

Josh didn't know whether to laugh or kiss her. He decided to do both, but as he pulled back again there was a strange, intent look on Donna's face that gave him pause. She'd been right, he realised, about the issues between them. Two months ago they'd barely been speaking. Six months before that she'd broken his heart. Maybe he'd broken hers too. He didn't know, he didn't know anything about it anymore. All he knew for sure was that he still missed her, every single day. "Donna?"

"Joshua…?"

God, he loved the sound of his name on her lips. "I just want to say - before we…go inside - I just… I want to say, that this isn't only about tonight? Right?" He was surprised it had come out as a question.

All the teasing left her face, she softened and was suddenly the naïve, sweet-hearted girl who'd charmed her way into his life so many years ago. "It's not only about tonight, Josh. It's about-" The coy smile was back. "Let's just say, this is a conversation I've wanted to have for a long time, and I plan on- Okay, that's just getting stale now." She cocked her head. "It's about- What I feel is- God, I get so tongue-tied when I try to explain this, it's-"

"I know." He touched her face, soft as silk beneath his fingers. "I know, I just wanted you to know that, for me, it's not just tonight. It's not a lust thing." He smiled uncertainly. "Not that that's not a big part of it - well, not more important than- But there are other things that, you know, I want you to know about so that I…we…"

Her finger on his lips silenced his incoherent rambling. "Come inside," she whispered. "We'll talk after."

After… Her affectionate smile melted him from the inside out and, a 760 verbal notwithstanding, he couldn't think of a word to say. So he just kissed her softly on the lips and took her hand as they walked together up the steps to her building. At the door she paused, glancing over to smile at him again, and in that smile he saw his future, spread before him as if beneath a warm summer sun, and it was a lifetime of love, laughter, and intimate conversation.

He knew he'd never be tongue-tied again.


End file.
